


Blue's Skeleton Corner

by BlueMeansStop



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Blood and Violence, Body Horror, Coffee Shop, Explicit Language, Fellcest - Freeform, Fontcest, Gen, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mpreg, Multi, Other, References to Depression, Swapcest - Freeform, papcest - Freeform, puns, sancest, skelepreg, swapfellcest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-04-01 02:08:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13988244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueMeansStop/pseuds/BlueMeansStop
Summary: Here be skeletons. One shots, drabbles, ficlets, etc of skeleton ships.





	1. Level Of Violence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, Blue here. I've decided to move my fontcest oneshots from Blue's Writing Corner and give them their own space. I know some fans don't like fontcest and to avoid accidentally exposing someone to it, this was the best option. BWC will still cater to Reader fics and non skele/skele ships. This way, everyone's happy and safe and I can keep things a little more organized. I will slowly be moving things over here and there probably wont be anything new for awhile. I've been busy with other Undertale fics. If you're new to my writing, hello, lovely to meet you! Welcome. I have a NSFW tumblr [HERE](https://blue-means-stop.tumblr.com) if you want to keep up to date on what I'm doing. If not, I'll be updating my profile here in a bit to keep a tally on what's being worked on.
> 
> Prompt: _Basically take the Fell bros from[Power Hungry Assholes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6592369) and make them kill people mercilessly._
> 
> For [CrushingOnSans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrushingOnSans/pseuds/CrushingOnSans).  
>  **WARNINGS:** Fellcest, violence, fighting, blood, language, bit of body horror, minor chara death.

Pain.

A sweet, fleeting cooling touch that does anything but. It licks away the deep violet flames, drowning his flesh in agony and Grillby nearly bites his tongue in two to keep the wretched moan from slipping through his teeth. He’s lost his vision in his right eye, nearly extinguished by another splash of crisp, clean water from the jewel-encrusted goblet clutched between bored phalanges. They twist the thick stem in a stark, calculating gesture before pausing. The chalice dips again and there is another cooling, searing line of pain that runs down the side of his face, snuffing out his cheek in a hiss of smoke before it reignites in defiance. There’s an empty cavern that serves for his right eye socket, flames sagging and wilting flaccidly to leave a dusty open space amidst the flickering flames desperate to stay lit. 

“Please.” His voice rasps and cracks like dying embers and he raises himself on an elbow, drawing up as best he can from his prone position on the cold, stone floor. He tries to make eye contact with the stoic figure sitting lavishly atop the throne, a long leg thrown over an armrest to dangle and swing boredly. An elegant skull stretched into a wicked, jagged permanent sneer and glowing red eye lights watch him writhe like a helpless creature with the intensity of a predator watching their prey. A gloved hand is tucked under Papyrus’ chin, resting his weight on it and the extravagant crown perched atop of his brow catches the faint light of the throne room.

“ya hear that, boss? a genuine please.” Sans crouches down in front of Grillby, balancing in the ridiculous red sneakers he always wore and they seem out of place in the lavish courtyard. He rests elbows on knees and tilts his head, grin wide and malicious as he twirls the chalice in his hand again, swirling the few drops of liquid inside as if contemplating what to do with it. Sans regards the elemental with a ruthless note of pleasure in the smoldering red eye light, magic swirling openly in the socket. Grillby half expects a rumble of a purr to tumble from the skeleton. Sans grinds the toe of his shoe as he stands and the crack of glass splinters, snapping the slick pair of glasses that had been knocked off Grillby’s head when he had reeled back after being splashed in the face. “oops.”

Grillby lets out a guttural growl and draws his other arm up, clawing at the cushioned floor of wilted and dead red flowers. Crushed and trampled underfoot so many months ago in the upsurge, they remain bloodied smears ground into the earth and stone as wisps of memories. That merits the sole of a red sneaker to the head, shoving him harshly back down until his face grinds against stonework.

There is a dark chuckle that drifts from the throne and the shoe shoves harder before it eases off him and Grillby can make out the sprinkle of dust beneath him when he lifts his head. It mixes with the rotted vegetation, graying the dull red even more. He gags on soot that coats the inside of his mouth and swallows the inky blackness in a vain attempt to stave off the inevitable. He can no longer feel his legs, what little there is left of them. 

“say it again.” Sans lets a single drop of water slip from his cup and it hisses atop of an outstretched hand, flames fluttering at the contact. “beg for it. lemme hear that pretty little voice of yours.” There’s an infliction in his tone, mocking and cruel on the forefront, strained on the end, hidden in his deep gravel voice of unwanted small spaces and drunken struggles.

He can barely lift his head but Grillby musters the spite and his grin is crooked and broken, a jagged line that matches the fool on the throne. He spits a small ball of fire at the red shoes in front of him and it does little but leave a smear of ash along the grungy front. He gives a rough laugh and it’s pitched higher than he’s ever heard himself, bordering on a tone that nears a troubling hysteria and he can’t stop, finding the entire situation terribly funny.

Sans laughs with him, falling into a coarse guffaw that resounds up into the high ceilings and bounces off the stone and back, making a few others wince by the volume before it’s silenced with a snap of teeth. The hue of a single gold tooth gleams wickedly. “pay yer own fuckin’ tab, asshole.” A soft click of fingers, bone sliding against bone and the snap is sharp in the waning silence. They don’t make a sound, materializing as if from the depths of his imagination, red constructed glowing bones erupt from impossible spaces beneath Grillby’s body and tear through arms and legs as if he is nothing more than burning ashes.

The cry of agony is lost in a rush of wasted air and the elemental dangles above the ground like a skewed bug, fragments of bone pushing further through his limbs by his own weight. He only realizes when the blinding pain fades into a numbing fog of anguish and he gasps raggedly, that it’s not enough to dust him. A new construct rises slowly, edges splintered and ugly and presses under his chin, forcing his head up lest he impale his own self. For a moment he contemplates it. His body jerks, unable to control the movements and feels the burn just below his chin and he slips a little further down until the angles of each bone catches him, halting his progress with an undue gentleness.

There is a shifting of chains behind him, kneeling individuals who survived the attempted assassination of the new King. A few loyal and weaker subjects of the late Asgore had banded together in one last ditch effort to usurp the new ruler and if one couldn’t do it, then perhaps twenty could. Now only a handful remained, the flimsy operation a catastrophic failure from the start and the remaining souls rounded up to be dealt with in person by Papyrus. Grillby had claimed he hadn’t been the leader of the group, but rather a couple of guards who were nothing more than scattered piles of dust flanking the impaled elemental.

Papyrus is brutal, efficient, ruling with a cruel fist and a disregard to royal ruling much like the last king and perhaps that’s why he’s loved and feared and hated so much. He sits captivatingly atop the large throne as if it were made for him. Sans knows his brother, knows his ire and wrath and delicious pain he can rain. Papyrus is infallible, poised and regal, the coup means nothing to him, only cementing how powerful he has become, how much stronger he was and what a force to be reckoned with.

Leaving Grillby to writhe, Sans feigns losing interest in the prolonged torture of the elemental in favor of tipping his cup over and giving it to two quick shakes to make sure it was truly empty. Only a few drops catch the bartender and he jolts at it, dust gathering around the perforated fire that’s nothing more than a smolder now, greying around the edges. He doesn’t want to look and his head bobs, growing heavier by the moment and a sharp edge of bone catches him under the chin again.

Sans pours himself a decadent amount of wine from the nearby table into his chalice and gives it a vague swirl, letting the deep vermillion slosh back and forth as he turns toward his brother. Papyrus hasn’t moved from his slouched, leg thrown over the armrest pose and watches with the same predatory hunger, running a gloved finger distractedly below his mouth, the thick stitching catching along the serrated edge of teeth. The gesture isn’t lost on Sans and he casually closes the space between them just on the verge of stepping onto the throne and holds out the chalice for him to take.

Sans offers a wolfish grin when Papyrus gives a contemplative pause before lofting the hand resting atop a knee toward it only for the shorter brother to snatch it back at the last moment. He tips it, draining it and it dribbles carelessly down his chin, following the curve of ivory bone. Papyrus growls and the outstretched hand fists the front of his red shirt before jerking him forward to trap him between his knees. Sans registers the feel of gloves on either side of his face before Papyrus descends upon him, capturing him in a harsh kiss that grinds their teeth together until Sans opens his mouth, invitingly. His brother wastes no time, tasting both him and the drink and Sans eagerly licks back, scraping his tongue against sharp teeth to let his magic mix with the headiness of wine. The powerful hands engulfing his head twitch as if it would take nothing at all to cave his skull in and Sans’ soul flutters at the heavenly fear and desire it stirs within him.

Hands find Papyrus’ knees and Sans rests his weight on them, pushing further into the brutal kiss, hovering on the edge of painful. Papyrus breaks the kiss first with a low possessive growl and his gloved fingers dig to pull him back enough to look him in the eye. Magic drifts unrestrained from his sockets like sanguine smoke to waft around the sharp edges of his skull and his voice is a low purr between them. “LET’S SKIP THE THEATRICS, SHALL WE?”

His older brother gives a throaty chuckle as phalanges trail up leather clad thighs. “that’s a first, yer majesty.” The title is muttered as reverently as his sarcastic tone can gather and Sans only just refrains from shuddering under the dark look Papyrus gives him. The voracious gaze is reflected in an exhale, hot across his face and barely restrained in the shaky breath and he wants nothing more than Papyrus to bend him over the throne and take him in front of everyone. The quirk of a brow bone tells him, his king is thinking the same and Papyrus captures him in another rough kiss, bending him backwards to totter precariously on the edge of the throne.

Only when he breaks away again does he press his forehead to his, sockets fluttering closed. “TOGETHER?” He breathes.

“yeah.” Because no matter the fights and arguments and beautiful bruises they leave on each other, this kingdom was theirs, ruled by both equal parts cruelty and devotion. Papyrus is content to sit upon the throne, it was where he always belonged in his brother’s eyes. Sans is happy to keep to the side, he didn’t crave it like his bro did but he’d reign like the brutal individual the Underground had made him. He had judged the whole goddamn Underground and found them to be unworthy. Why would they need to break the barrier when they had everything here?

The hands reluctantly leave his face and Sans spins on his heel to bring him along side Papyrus as he rises. There’s already a conjured bone club in the taller's hand, a shattered edge of a femur, pulsing the deep red hue of his magic. He strides across the courtyard in long, elegant steps, tattered scarf fluttering behind him. Grillby manages to look up just as he swings the club down atop the elemental’s head. There is the muffled pop of fire before his head is driven down atop the splintered bone construct and then he’s nothing more than a pile of ash and dust floating in the air. It’s crushed underfoot with little regard as the king continues on.

There’s sudden movement from high above, a shadow separates from the rest and a dog monster in old, rusted armor careens down like an avenging angel toward Papyrus with a spear clenched tightly in her paws. Her cape snaps behind her like broken wings. There’s barely time to react, she moves too quickly for Sans to realize what’s happening, even as his blasters materialize on instinct. Papyrus whirls ever poised as if expecting it and meets the clash of a spear with his club and parries it with ease. He shoves hard, forcefully and the dog goes tumbling back with a surprised yelp.

Only then does Sans recognize her, a recruit that never made it past preliminary rounds, Doge or something equally stupid and befitting the former canine squad. She was too savage, too wild even for Undyne’s taste, made her hard to train. Sans remembers how scrawny she’d been, living off the land, teeth missing, patches of fur ripped out, blind in her left eye with an even keener right. She was good material to be a grunt soldier, but Undyne turned her away all the same.

Now she sits crouched and hunched, shaking hard, fury and madness colliding in her blown out pupils as she stares glassily up at a scowling Papyrus. She’s wearing Lesser Dog’s old armor, Sans recognizes it by the overly large dent that had to be pressing painfully along her ribs, but she doesn’t seem to be aware of anything anymore. How did she even survive the Underground like this?

She’s not all there but Papyrus can feel the loathing directed at him and he doesn’t give her a moment to regain her ground or sanity. He swings his club ruthlessly, smashing against the armored side and Doge yelps again as she stumbles, tries to regroup and gets the sharp end of his construct straight through her good eye. He drives her down to the ground, burying the end of his club into the stonework and skewering Doge into place. She gives one good struggle, an awful noise gurgling from within her scarred muzzle and then she’s empty armor filled with dust.

Fuck, boss was too fucking perfect.

The throne room erupts into madness. Whether it was deliberately planned or not, two rookie guards Sans barely knew outside of their assigned numbers, spring into action. He has to dodge the sudden influx of magic in the shapes of crosses and sticks, half formed blasters careening forward. The stonework bites into his knees as he tumbles but a hand grabs at the scruff of his jacket, hauling him up and Papyrus looms over his smaller build, one arm wrapped around his shoulders. Beside him, the blasters shudder under the battering attack, hovering as makeshift shields until called upon. The cat like knight takes advantage of the pause and breaks the chains off her insect companion, freeing them both. The others are left on their own.

Papyrus doesn’t slow and stalks forward, leaving Sans to watch as 04 conjures a rudimentary white bar of magic and grips it tightly in her gloved hands. The cat knight spins with a gracefulness that belies her size and meets Papyrus’s club with a shuddering force that echoes like a crack of thunder. Magic of red and white spark against one another and Papyrus deflects, pivoting to swing again. Sans was never one for flowery words, but watching his brother, his king, is like watching a dance. Grace and force and fiery anger all rolled into one. He could watch those hips sway back and forth all day, regard the powerful lunge and sidestep as magical constructs are tossed at him, dodging them with a vindictive sneer as if offended by the simplistic attack.

Sans has his own problem to deal with, namely in the form of 03 but he can’t help but steal quick glances at his brother’s lithe form. He shoves his hands into pockets, blasters flanking him now as he faces off with the mantis knight. Papyrus is behind him like a malevolent force that feels like he should never turn his back on. He can feel the killing intent waft from him in murderous waves and lets them wash over him, unaffected. He would be everything his brother wanted him to be, his equal, his partner, his. Magic gathers in his eye, mirroring the skeletal beasts maws as they charge up with magic and are forced open as if unable to contain the power. “bet yer an ugly fucker under there, sweet cheeks.”

At this range, he doesn’t even need to aim and his grin is vicious when his blasters obey his command. They let loose a shrieking howl of ruby red magic, lighting the entire throne room in bloody hues, sending shadows scattering high. 03’s vision is filled with its brilliancy, blinding her in burning crimson heat until there’s nothing left but a singed bracelet that sits atop another pile of dust. Sans refrains from rolling his eyes up at the sudden rush of LV as it invades him. It’s intoxicating leaving him dizzy, high, and throbbing, fuck!

The others are fighting their binds, but it’s the decapitated floating fox head that slips free first. They’re even mangier than Doge, eyes a sickly sallow yellow and a mouthful of drooling septic fangs. They gnash at the closest thing, a Vulkin, too frenzied to realize who’s who and dust is scattered in the air before they arch their bloated shape toward the two skeletons.

Sans hears the wailing of 04 but he doesn’t need to look to know. Papyrus separates from him and they’re both moving to the unheard call of war. His king moves flawlessly, carving through the snarling head and Sans takes up the opposite and the dangling eye swings toward him, half their jaw already missing and a tongue lolls out of the gaping muzzle. A blaster smashes into the floating head, sinking teeth into the crumbling shape and dust rains down on everyone. A demon monster surges to his feet and is meet with a volley of small red constructed bones, conjured and flung from the well of Papyrus’ magic. Each sharpened construct staggering the giant’s pace, slowing him down until Sans is standing in the way, another blaster grinning devilishly over his shoulder.

Papyrus’ magic is like fire, so very different from the smoldering rubbish of the former bartender. It gets inside him and burns him from the inside out, setting every nerve ablaze and the pain is addicting, comforting and familiar and like a drug he can’t get enough of. Magic flares and it’s a pulse Sans feels in his chest, resonating like a false heartbeat and Papyrus keeps moving forward. The elder watches his king’s fist connect solidly against the side of a monster’s head, catching them off guard and follows forward with a knee to their sternum and finally drives the edge of his femur club through the back of their head. He wrenches it free and blood splatters hotly against Sans’ face, sticking to the ivory bone. Flesh, scales and fur, everything breaks and splits against the crude assault, pleas fall on deaf ears and screams are encouraged with every downward arc of his weapon. There is no mercy afforded in the Underground.

Power sings in Sans’ flushed bones, LV cascading around them both in a blinding, frenzied high and Sans can only hear his ragged laughter echoing around him when the rest fall away in floating dust and magic. He’s moving now, skipping back and forth almost gleefully under the guise of his shortcuts, he’s unstoppable and every monster falls under his and Papyrus’s magic, prolonging the high and only when he spins and there’s a figure looming over him does he come back in a clash of reality when he realizes there isn’t anyone left alive.

A ragged femur club meets the open mouth of a blaster and the air resonates powerfully under the building whine of power. Papyrus is shoving roughly against him, Sans pushing back and they’re pressed tightly together, breathing heavily in the dust, the blood, and the smell of each other. Papyrus is straining against his blaster, fevered rage burning in the empty sockets and frame tense and for a moment, Sans thinks this is it, his brother will drive that club straight through his Soul and he’d willingly give him everything. Sans meets his gaze and tips his head up, exposing the red collar and a sliver of bone and gives an excited shiver. Club and blaster vanish in shower of mutual sparks and with nothing in the way, Papyrus careens into him, tugging on his jacket and sinking to the dusty ground.

“MINE.” He growls hotly against his neck and drags his fangs downward, leaving burning trails along Sans’ collarbone that aches exquisitely, marking him as the king’s. Papyrus ruts purposefully against his hips, earning a hiss and struggle, and laps at the well of marrow that bubbles up from the bite.

Sans tangles hands in the scarf, tugging his sneering King closer and bucks back, hooking a leg over a jutting hip to keep his brother flush against him. It’s a low warning growl that stills and pins him to the floor, breathing in the dust he’s practically bathing in. “yours.”


	2. Mindful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was my entry for a foncest fanfiction contest on tumblr. It has since concluded. This was originally a little nonsense of a drabble and I redid it. Hopefully for the better.  
>  **WARNINGS:** Fontcest, vague alluding to falling down, depression, smooches.

“PLEASE, BROTHER?” Papyrus leaned forward, eye sockets filled with a soft tangerine glow and if he had the ability, he would have batted his sockets for good measure at the slumped figure atop their couch. When Sans didn’t reply, his smile dimmed and he worried gloved hands around the edges of his newly fixed scarf as he watched the elder sink further into his jacket as if it would hide him away. He didn’t think it was too big of a request and shifted unconsciously, jostling his worn battle body in the muted silence of the television glow. He glanced outside at the darkening evening, the ceiling crystals were fading signaling he was running out of light. 

“COME WITH ME?”

“okay, bro.” Sans finally answered, casting his gaze sideways to the far wall of their living room and couldn’t help the twitch of a grin surface at the sudden and excited laughter that echoed from the taller. What Sans could say no to his Papyrus? He was hoisted up with little thought and automatically clung to his bro, finding the little notches and groves he fit against and was happily carried along outside and into the cool air. A sharp wind caused him to shiver, rattling bones quietly and Papyrus automatically shifted to shield the light breeze, tightening his protective hold.

“I’M SO GLAD YOU DECIDED TO ACCOMPANY ME, SANS,” Papyrus chattered cheerfully, traipsing through the center of town, making his way towards the outskirts. “YOU’VE BEEN SLEEPING MORE THAN USUAL THIS WEEK AND…” There was an uncharacteristic pause and a hesitancy Sans felt in the arm encircling his waist to keep him steady. A gloved hand resting just above his clothed femur patted unconsciously, soothingly.

Sans had been so down lately and Papyrus was determined to be the bestest and coolest brother ever and lift his spirits. Sans may have thought he’d been so sly, but his little brother could tell the differences in his smiles and lately the rigidity of the ever present grin felt off, the corners too tight as if overcompensating. And don’t think he didn’t miss the darkened shadows beneath his eye sockets, a telltale sign of excess magic bleeding over and unchecked, and the grey undertone of his bones.

“AND I’M JUST HAPPY NOW.”

Sans buried his face in the side of his brother’s chest, tugging on the hood to cover the light azure that graced the round zygomatic bones of his skull and he willed away the guilty pulse that constricted his soul. Of course Pap would pick up on his downtrodden pity party for one. It was kind of hard not to when he sat on the couch and refused to budge on his days off, watching with a distracted faraway look MTT reruns with as much energy as a sleeping snail. He’d even skipped a few meals, pretending to be asleep when his brother tried to rouse him.

Papyrus would always hover quietly, shifting from one foot to the other, unaware of Sans watching him before carefully running a hand down his skull, straightening his clothing and pulling the decorative afghan from over the back of the couch to tuck him in. The hand would return in its petting a little while longer, lulling Sans into actual sleep and he would always dream of the clack of teeth against his own and a murmured whisper he could never make out. He’d always wake up feeling worse. Even more so when he wasn’t alone. Pap would often be sitting quietly beside him, watching television or working on a puzzle book, humming a soft catchy tune distractedly.

He should have been ashamed of the flush that would accompany him waking, needy dreams of his brother holding him close, rubbing little circles in the small of his back as they relaxed together with legs tangled in such an intimate pose, Sans would always jolt awake. These dreams had never progressed past some intense cuddling but it would leave him rattled at the longing for more. The guilt seeped into his bones, weighing heavily on his soul, leaving behind a quiet ache that had grown steadily over the resets. Brothers didn’t think of each other like that and Sans had painfully locked each wayward thought and errant dream away, burying it deep beneath the dull hurt.

Papyrus shifted his grip the further he traipsed into the depths of the forests surrounding Snowdin. Sans hadn’t answered and chose to press further into him, a kneecap scraping along the inner wall of his iliac crest in a not entirely uncomfortable feeling. On the contrary, it felt particular decent. Nice even. He was grateful Sans couldn’t see the soft rush of orange across his face before he schooled himself with a nervous laugh and immediately covered that with an ear drum bursting, boisterous cackle. “YES! I DO SO ENJOY US TOGETHER BROTHER. OUTSIDE, I MEAN. TOGETHER OUTSIDE.” He felt the gentle hum of an amused huff as Sans shifted to rest a cheek against his collarbone.

“me too, pap.”

It was enough to break Papyrus from his stuttering moment and he happily filled the lull of silence with comforting chatter and local gossip. Sans nodded along, sinking into the familiar banter, tipping his head when Pap scolded him for an awful pun that brought a new lovely blush across his cheeks. Both grew quiet for a brief moment until Papyrus countered with a quick witted quip that sent Sans snorting and giggling with an awful bout of laughter that left him breathless and a little dizzy. Maybe he hadn’t really been getting enough sleep and was content to zone out as his brother recounted the latest cooking excursion with Undyne.

Basil. That was the new scent that clung to the red scarf and Sans absently toyed with the end, brushing phalanges along the careful stitching he’d done last week. Pap had been in an absolute tizzy over it, bursting into the house with it cradled lovingly to his chest, tears in his sockets as if his greatest love was dying in his arms. It may have well been but Sans had carefully extracted the article of clothing from clenched hands and promised he’d take care of it. Seeing his brother dance around happily with a newly mended scarf was worth the bruised fingertips and strained eye sockets from sitting underneath the kitchen light till the wee early hours of the morning to make sure it was ready for Papyrus’ morning shift. The clack of teeth atop his skull was also worth it.

Sans blinked sleepily as he was swept up and plunked down on his feet at the edge of a frozen stretch of ice. He wobbled slightly as his slippers sunk unevenly before hunching his shoulders and hands sought refuge in the pockets of his jacket, grateful he had the foresight to zip it up before being taken for a jaunty stroll through town. Evening was just starting to set and snowflakes floated unhurriedly from the high overhanging ceiling of rock and mist. It was going to be an extra cold night, it always was right before a new storm blew through.

Fir trees heavy with snow dotted the wintery hills with dangerously steep drop offs and with carefully lidded eye sockets, Sans watched his brother move effortlessly across the patch of ice, elegant confidence in every step as he looked over the workings of the ball game. He knelt into a snowy drift, nudging aside the snow-decahedron to pull up a hidden door and the painful squeak of ice covered hinges was loud in the chilly quiet. Papyrus squinted into the quickly darkening area and leaned back at the soft glow emanating from behind. He glanced over his shoulder at Sans who had trudged up, a white bone construct floating lazily above his head, giving off enough light to see. They shared a soft, easy smile. Giving a quiet _nyeh heh heh_ , Papyrus went to work, methodically cleaning out the ice with the tools he kept along the intricate gear system, replacing a cracked washer and tightening up the finer workings.

Sans continued to stand quietly out of the way and his gaze followed the nimble phalanges, bereft of their gloves the finer detailed work required. His gaze trailed up to the red glove clenched delicately between teeth before trailing along the angular lines of his brother’s face, something he always secretly coveted and found himself lost in the moment, spacing out as the cold seeped into his bones and he made himself look away, sinking further into his jacket. It didn’t help the conjured images replying over in his mind of hands trailing over his skull, petting him sweetly.

With a light groan, the gears clicked into place and began moving again and Papyrus sat back on his haunches to admire his work. He snapped the door closed, giving a good shove to make sure it was sealed tight and stood, brushing his knees free of snow. Now to test it. He took off, sliding across the expanse of ice toward the single snow poff and gave it a quick kick, watching it spin off in a flurry toward Sans who had returned to the spot he’d previously been standing. The brief lucid moment of, well, it wasn’t quite joy that snuck past Sans’ walls, but the smile they shared had been genuine and Papyrus couldn’t let that slip away again. He looked expectantly at his brother, pulling out the puppy dog eyes and with a sigh he could hear across the open expanse, Sans stepped out carefully onto the ice and kicked the poff back. He gave another wobble, hands still jammed in his pockets and Papyrus’ delighted laugh filled him warmly as the poff rolled to a stop only a few feet away before tipping into the designated hole. A yellow colored flag popped up.

“figured you’d get a real-”

“DON’T YOU DARE!”

“- _kick_ out of that.”

Papyrus fumed humorously and Sans grinned back. From the edge of his vision, movement fluttered near the tree line and the nearly forgotten bone construct shifted toward it on instinct, just reigning it in when he registered the snowflake patterned feathers dancing between trucks. Snowdrake slipped through, watching curiously and openly as he leaned coolly against a tree and sputtered when a fat drop of snow landed on him. Sans eased the tension from his shoulders, feeling his grin tight and unnatural against the smooth bone of his face and caught Papyrus staring back with no hidden amount of concern. Sans hated that look.

“sorry, bro,” he returned lazily, shrugging his shoulders, falling back into the passive persona all too easily. “guess i got a little scared _kickless_ , there, heh. no harm, no _foul_.” The concern only deepened. “… that was a little _ri-kick-ulous_ of me.”

“Sans.”

He looked up at the unnaturally soft tone and was met with a contrastingly intense stare, the one Papyrus got when he was faced with an exceptionally difficult puzzle. Sans squirmed under the regard, the bone construct vanishing in a faint sprinkle of unused magic. The wind caught it, tearing it away and Papyrus’ gaze narrowed briefly before he was pulling his gloves back on, tugging them at the wrist for a perfect fit. He stalked across the ice and Sans wished nothing more than to be back home, warm and toasty on the couch and away from the entirely too sharp and calculating look. He didn’t want to be one of Papyrus’ contraptions to puzzle through and solve. His slew of problems were his own to deal with, it’d only end up hurting the both of them and his bro didn’t deserve any of it.

“i’m uh, gunna head home paps,” he mumbled into his jacket, averting his gaze quickly. “this air is going right through me.” He forced out a flat chuckle, feeling the swell of magic build around him for a shortcut. “ya know, skeleton monster and all.”

“Please, don’t go.” The wistful plea came out in a soft rasp, rooting the smaller skeleton where he stood and Papyrus hesitated before closing the gap between them, stretching a hand out as if the very monster would vanish if he didn’t reach him. He touched a slouched shoulder, feeling the solid warm bone beneath the thick jacket and dragged him into his arms and held tightly. “I can’t follow you if you… go away.”

“paps,” Sans breathed, tense, “i’m not, i’m not going anywhere.”

“You go away so often.” His brother continued, curling his body to rest his head atop of Sans’, a hand gently rubbing little circles into the small of his back. His voice dropped lower, softer if it was even possible until it was nothing but a murmur against his skull. “I’m afraid, you wont find your way back.”

Sans stiffened in the tender embrace and felt Papyrus’ grip tighten briefly. Was that what his brother thought? Had he really been that distant and… Sans pushed against him and there was a moment of reluctance before Papyrus let go, barely concealing the hurt in his gaze. “papyrus.” Sans dragged his hands form the warmth of his jacket to cup his brother’s face, the guilt creeping back to push against affection. “no, it’s not like that, bro. i just, i got a lot on my mind, that’s all.”

“I thought.” Papyrus’ eye sockets slid closed and there was a shimmer of orange along the edges and Sans’ soul pulsed painfully. “If you spent time with me, I could keep you from fa… leaving.”

“i’m not… i’m still here, okay?” Brushing his thumbs across cheekbones in a soothing gesture, Sans struggled, not entirely sure what he was trying to convey. “stars pap, i’d never leave you. i…” He leaned forward, shifting to stand on tiptoe and felt Papyrus tip down at the gentle nudge of his hands.

His worn out slippers gave way to the slippery ice and Sans lurched forward, nearly beaning his brother in the face with his forehead and the surrounding forest lurched in his vision. He tried to jerk back, severely overcorrecting and felt the ice cold, no pun intended, bite of slush beneath a naked foot as he lost a slipper somewhere in his awkward flail. Fear lanced through him, knowing he would have ended up hurt if Papyrus hadn’t caught his elbow.

“I HAVE YOU, SANS.” Papyrus reassured gently, bringing him unintentionally flush against him in the process, a hand falling to grasp at his lower back and grazing along the edges of his hipbones. Sans went ramrod straight, the hold so much more different than earlier and felt his soul skip a beat when he met the smiling gaze of his little brother. Not so little anymore, he thought when Pap gave a gentle nudge to set him back on his feet, pulling him even closer.

Snowdrake hooted and hollered at the little show, giving his feathers a deep ruffle and the two all but forgot about their audience causing a knee jerk reaction from Sans, pushing away abruptly only to lose his balance and slip again. This time he wasn’t going to be so lucky as he stumbled backwards and knew he was going down hard, hoping his meager one point of HP would hold.

Papyrus drove forward to catch him and Sans caught the fluttering scarf, tugging it in his panicked plunge and the two collided in a tangled flail of limbs. Somewhere Sans’s foot caught behind a knee and knocking the taller off balance. At the last moment Papyrus twisted, curling protectively around the smaller monster and letting his back and side take the brunt of the fall. He let out a pained grunt as Sans sprawled atop of him, jabbing him sharply in the ribs with an elbow, the momentum sending them both sliding across the ice. For a moment neither moved, afraid to and Sans laid still, skull pressed against the broad, heaving ribcage.

“BROTHER!” The alarmed cry made him shift, pressing a palm to push himself up to meet the fearful concern swirling in the deep empty sockets. Sans felt gloved hands on his body, checking for unseen injuries and ghosting over his skull to press tenderly, catching the soft curve of his mandible. “ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?!”

“yeah,” he muttered, a hint of blue coating his cheeks and felt the tension ease out of his younger brother who dropped his head with a light thunk on the ice to stare up at the night ceiling stars. “i’m all right.” He patted a hand atop the uniform sternum and paused when a gloved hand covered it, halting him from getting up. Magic thrummed tightly like a cord stretched thin beneath phalanges and his brother’s magic spilled over him, soft, gentle and caring, wrapping him in a comforting aura of protection and love. “still here.”

Papyrus exhaled shakily before surging up and clacked a not so gentle kiss against his teeth in his rush. Both winced and Sans moved to pull back when the hand left his, only for it cup the back of his cervical spine, pressing at the base of his skull to push him into the lingering kiss.

Sans stiffened, a hand catching a handful of the crisp white uniform to push away or pull himself closer, he couldn’t decide and hated himself. Hated the warmth it pulled into him, how his brother’s magic caressed and welcomed him, how he fit so perfectly into the notches and groves. Papyrus shifted, breaking the kiss and shyly met his gaze with hooded eye sockets and a sweet coral blush, nervously seeking a response.

“Stay with me.”

It wasn’t a question.

“okay, bro.”


	3. Lullaby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For all you Kustard lovers out there. The [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m2xnPSRSSzU) Red sings.  
>  **WARNINGS:** Sancest, skelepreg, that cute shit.

“ **hey baby**.” Soft, hazy red eye lights trailed along the curve of blue magic barely covered by the straining, old t-shirt. With the utmost care, he rolled the edge up to reveal more of the beautiful translucent magic. The deep furrow of his brow softened at the small glowing soul bobbing gently in the created womb and Red’s eye lights drifted up to Sans’ sleeping face. Soft and relaxed he faintly snored, nasal bridge scrunching briefly in his dream before he settled down, a hand drifting to cup the light swell of his stomach. He never looked more beautiful. Red refrained from pressing a kiss to his cheek, knowing it’d only wake him.

He’d come home from work early, the house quiet and though it wasn’t a worrisome find, he still climbed the stairs quickly to find his husband asleep on their bed, laundry basket still filled with warm clothes beside it. The sight alone might have shocked him if Papyrus hadn’t texted him earlier, telling him he had dropped by to help with a few household chores and there was laundry still in the dryer.

Red had set his work bag beside the door and climbed slowly into bed, careful to not disturb him. He scooted closer and propped his head in his hand as he leaned forward to whisper against the blue magic. “ **how was yer day?** ” He paused at the low pulse of the souling. “ **really now?** ” He chuckled. “ **keepin’ everyone busy, huh? that’s my baby. look at ya, yer gettin’ so big**.” There was no mistaking the pride in his husky tone and his grin stretched bigger. “ **i hardly recognize ya. yer gonna grow up to be so big and strong, all thanks to yer mama**.” Red laughed again, before whispering in a conspirator tone, “ **don’t tell sans i said that. i know he hates it when i call him that, but carrier is a lil too impersonal**.”

Red sighed contently, watching the souling sway carefree. “ **there’s a big world out here waitin’ for ya, but take all the time ya need. yer mama and i love you so much, yer gonna have all the things i couldn’t give pap**.” He cleared his throat of the barely there rasp of emotions, fleeting guilt lingering like a bitterness in his mouth. “ **things i never had. ya wont ever have to live my horrors, baby. the only love yer ever gonna know, is ours. and a whole bunch of uncles**.”

The souling pulsed brightly under the tender words and Sans stirred, hand moving to hover over his stomach again and quieted when the inverted soul did.

“ **hey now, shh, shh, yer gonna wake yer mama**.” From the depths of his chest, a low sound drifted hesitantly before growing a little bolder with each passing moment and Red hummed tuneless gentle sounds. The deep rumble of his voice slowly shifted into a soft unsure melody, a half remembered lullaby from a time long past when monsters sang to their children. He never could remember when he first learned it, but often sang it to his baby brother when they were little. Who would have thought he’d ever have the chance to sing it again with his own little one.

The souling trembled and Red trailed fingertips over the blue magic, tracing lazy patterns and his baby followed as he continued singing, his brow rising in delight. “ **and i’ll sing ya to sleep and i’ll sing ya tomorrow…** ” He drew a finger up to the where a floating rib rested snug against the magic and Sans’ stomach quivered, followed by a soft huff of laughter, making Red freeze.

“i didn’t know you could sing.”

Red let out a soft groan and gently buried his head against his husband’s side. Phalanges scrapped lovingly atop his skull.


	4. I Dare You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My first attempt at Rottenjoke. My Razz has since changed a little since I wrote this, but I still like the silliness of this.  
>  **WARNING:** Sancest, adorable dorks.

Sans glanced up at the rattle of his empty ketchup bottle and the high heeled, polished boot planted on the coffee table beside it. His gaze lazily trailed up the shapely leg attached to the boot to a delicate curved knee socket and femur and the gloved hand that rested atop it as Razz posed dramatically. The other monster slouched further, body melding with the lumpy green couch and folded his hands over the hollow of his stomach, softened by the thick blue hoodie. Slippered feet grazed the edge of the carpeted floor and Sans gave an idle swing of a leg, watching his alternate with faint amusement.

“ ** _THERE’S NOTHING I’M AFRAID OF!_** ” The boast was accompanied with a familiar laugh, a slightly rougher version of Blue’s and Sans tipped his head back, eye lights flickering in delight.

“oh yeah?”

“ ** _YES!_** ” He could feel the challenge on the horizon and he, the great and terrible Sans, would meet it fearless and head on.

Sans hummed thoughtfully. “i dare you…” Razz steeled himself, the eagerness of any test settling his eye lights ablaze. “… to hold my hand.”

“ ** _I ACCEPT!_** ” Dropping his boot to the floor, he leaned forward and scooped Sans’ hand into his own, fingers curling around the broader ones and squeezed tight enough to be felt. He beamed at his cunning and flawless victory before Sans’ chuckle brought him crashing back down to earth. He stared at their interlocking fingers mutely, a myriad of emotions flittering across his face before he settled on flustered and a light purple blush reached his cheeks. Razz sank into the empty spot on the couch at a loss for words and refused to meet the warm gaze directed at him nor let go of the equally warm hand.


	5. True Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rapidly growing favorite pairing, Spicyhoney.  
>  **WARNINGS:** Papcest, alcohol mention, drunkeness, crude language.

The muffled pop of magic, the rattle of a cabinet closely followed by a light crash echoed from the kitchen and Fell glanced up from the book he’d been reading. Looking over the rim of his glasses, he heard a familiar low curse and grunt and the sound of a chair scrapping heavily along the floor before a body fell heavily into it. There was the faint smell of cloves and honey in the air and Fell sighed, methodically slipping his glasses off and took his time to fold them neatly, put them in their case and slip a bookmark into his book, saving his place because he did not dog ear like a heathen. Standing, he gave a slow languid stretch, dusted his pants off and made his way to the kitchen to find Stretch sprawled out in a chair, gripping the back with one arm slung over in a death grip, legs akimbo and staring dazedly around him.

“ _is this home?_ ” he whispered.

Fell sniffed and smelled the alcohol from the entryway and wondered if a skeleton could singe non existent nose hairs. “ **ARE YOU DRUNK?** ”

The lanky alternate shifted toward the accusation with the greatest of difficulties, half sliding off the chair to blink back at the scowling other with arms folded before a grin split across his skull and he made an effort to sit up. “ _hey babe_ , _wow…_ _pretty fuckin’ sexy_.” There was an attempt to toss a finger gun at Fell and Stretch nearly slipped off his chair, comically clinging to it and dirty sneakers squeaked against the floor.

“ **YOU’RE DRUNK**.”

The grin grew bigger and there was a vague shrug of shoulders in the heavy swaddle of orange. “ _i may be but that doesn’t demon… dijon… diminish your sexiness_.” A hand snagged on the hoodie pocket and there was a faint struggle for the crumpled pack of cigarettes and lighter before he gave up the entirely too difficult task. “ _the ratio of sexiness is like… sexy to the second power. sexy squared.”_

“ **ISN’T THAT THE SAME THING?** ” Fell moved further into the kitchen, moving around the seated skeleton. Why was he entertaining this?

“… _sexy pi-ed_.” Stretch continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “ _sexi. you can’t tell but i said sexi with an i and the i insinuates something’s going to happen_.” He lofted his head to stare intently at Fell now standing over him and squinted oddly.

“ **WHAT ARE YOU DOING?** ”

“ _wiggling my eyebrows suggestively_.”

“ **YOU DON’T HAVE EYEBROWS**.”

Stretch gave a mock gasp and leaned back, sliding further in the chair and coming dangerously close to the edge. “ _you don’t happen to have a sharpie on you?_ ”

Fell snorted. “ **GO TO BED**.”

“ _carry me?_ ” He braved letting go of the chair to raise both hands and offered the monster the most pathetic, sad, drunken puppy look he could muster and received a derisive, annoyed sigh.

Refraining from pinching his nose bridge, Fell rolled his eye lights. “ **COME HERE**.” He bent, scooping Stretch up easily into his arms and earned a soft, “ _yay_.” and immediate cuddle and sloppy kisses pressed against his neck, instigating a soft flutter in his chest. The moment was also immediately ruined when Stretched belched loudly, hiccupped and groaned in the same breath. “ **CHARMING**.”

Fell wasted little time heading back to the living room, making a sharp right to climb up the stairs and down the hall to the last bedroom. He kicked the door open unceremoniously and deposited Stretch on the neatly made bed in the corner, only for him to hang on tightly, tipping Fell forward to bring a knee on the edge of the bed to compensate. He gave an amused huff. “ **YOU HAVE AN EXCEPTIONALLY STRONG GRIP WHEN YOU ACTUALLY APPLY YOURSELF**.”

“ _thanks_ ,” Stretch murmured, nuzzling him again. “ _i got it from my bro_.”

Prying the monster from his neck, which required a simple nudge of the interlocking phalanges at their weakest point, Fell stood while Stretch flopped back onto the bed with a moan. “ **ARE YOU GOING TO BE ALL RIGHT BY YOURSELF WHILE I GET YOU SOME WATER?** ”

Dragging an elbow under him to prop himself up, legs half dangling for purchase, hazy eye lights landed on the towering monster before glazing over. “ _i’ll have you know, i have a boyfriend and i will not fraternize with a stranger, no matter how sexy you are_.”

 **“I’M YOUR BOYFRIEND**.”

“ _yeah you are_.”

Fell sighed again at the drunken boast. “ **HOLD THIS**.” Tugging a pillow loose, he tucked it into Stretch’s hands, effectively distracting him long enough to slip out of the room. He made his way to the bathroom, rooted around in the medicine cabinet for a few painkillers for the inevitable headache, his or Stretch he hadn’t decided, a glass of water and the small empty wastebasket. Just in case.

Returning, he found Stretch hugging the pillow to his chest, snoring heavily and hanging halfway off the bed. Fell permitted himself an amused smile before setting the water and pills on the side table and trashcan beside the bed. Dropping lightly onto the bed, he pulled one sneakered foot into his lap, untied it followed by the second before tucking the lanky legs into a more comfortable position. Moving to stand, he found arms wrapped around his waist and a head pressed against his spine.

“ **STRETCH**.”

“ _please, just lemme cuddle your adorable butt_.” Fell felt Stretch rub his head back and forth against an iliac crest. “ _i like this butt_ ,” he mumbled affectionately, giving an awkward pat, “ _this is a nice butt. good butt_.”

“ **I COULD SAY THE SAME ABOUT YOU**.”

“ _awww you think i’m an adorable butt…_ ”

Fell could almost hear the grind of gears in Stretch’s head as he came to a slow dawning realization, but didn’t give him a chance to counter. “ **ARE YOU REALLY NOT GOING TO LET ME GO?** ”

Stretch shook his head quietly and groaned at the so very wrong move as everything jostled and spun and heaved.

Fell rubbed his hand over his skull tenderly. “ **SCOOT OVER. IF YOU THROW UP, PLEASE DO SO IN THE TRASHCAN**.”

“ _thanks babe_.”


	6. Bedtime Shenanigans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HoneyBBQ at it's finest.  
>  **WARNINGS:** Papcest, puns, smoking reference.

With a pleased sigh, Stretch fell back against the nest of pillows and blankets, enjoying the muffled sound beneath him and squirm of limbs. He shook the cold from his bones, double checking the door was closed before melting into the warmth. He got the subtle jut of an elbow in his side before Slim unearthed himself from his blanket cave with a huff and blinked sleepily at the disruption, finding his softer alternate atop of him.

Slim made a vague sound and blinked again when Stretch sat up with a grunt, twisted to clack a kiss between his sockets and trailed the back of his phalanges against the jut of his chin. The haze of a peach blush graced sharp cheekbones when Stretch moved closer, trapping him with a sweet grin and hazy eyes.

“ _hey_.” His murmur was raspy and languid, clothes lingering with the faint scent of the cigarette he had on the balcony, smoke still on his breath. “ _look, a distraction_.”

“ ** _wha-?_** ”

A pillow out of nowhere smacked into Slim’s exposed face and Stretch rolled away, laughing only to yelp as he was pulled back into the blanket cave, arms encircling around his waist. They tugged with a sudden fierceness, dragging him further into the bed and he gave one sad, pathetic kick for freedom before a pillow was shoved atop his face. He batted it away laughing and caught the arm holding it, pulling the monster across his lap with a light jerk. He followed with a smack to the overturned backend, sharp enough to make the other arch up with a undignified squeak.

“ _figured you’d be into that, babe_ ,” Stretch teased, grunting again as he sat up, pushing the other off him but Slim shook his head, content to stretch out like a lazy cat and tuck his folded arms under his chin. Stretch retaliated by lightly tapping out a beat on the lovely rear proffered to him, jeans muffling the sound and earned a delightfully muffled laugh as Slim buried his face.

His voice was undecipherable as he started talking prompting Stretch to nudge him to lift his head. “ ** _a man told his doctor he couldn’t sleep_** ,” he repeated, twisting slightly to look over his shoulder. “ ** _the doctor replied, lie down on the edge on the bed._** ” The scarred mouth twitched up into a smile, tugging at the golden canines as he paused just long enough for the punch line. “ ** _that way you’ll be sure to drop off_**.”

Stretch managed the first huff of laughter before an arm encircled around his neck, dragging him back down and with a flail and a mad grab for purchase, the both of them slid off the bed with a heavy thud. The comforter followed, tugged along for the ride to half cover them. Stretch winced where the back of his shoulders connected with the floor, long legs still sprawled atop the bed as he gently slid the rest of the way off. Slim’s face was smashed against his shoulder, lower body still hanging off the bed and felt a tremor wrack through his counterpart. Disregarding his own discomfort and concern etching his brow, he shook a hand loose and gingery gripped Slim’s bared shoulder, tank top strap sliding off the narrow frame.

A loud wheeze startled him before Slim burst out laughing, snorting obnoxiously into his shoulder as he rolled over, taking the comforter with him and tucking himself into a neat little burrito.

Stretched pawed at it, finding an edge to tug and was met with resistance and a determined cackle. He tugged harder, pulling the skeleton burrito further atop of him and he gave an awkward flail of his knee to try and knock his counterpart off. “ _real animal in bed there, pal_.”

“ ** _pet me and give me food_** ,” came the muffled response.

“ _that was awful_.” Stretch snorted, grinning and ran a hand along the lump, feeling for familiar bonework.

“ ** _i don’t really give a sheET_**!” Slim’s voice hitched at the end when Stretch’s palm came down across his bottom again, prompting a chuckle from his double. He earned a soothing caress and a bright orange blush that couldn’t be seen in his blanket cocoon and wiggled all the same.

“ _guess you could say, nothing really mattress_.”

“ ** _maybe i’ll sleep on it_**!” Slim rolled sharply, prompting a curse and barely concealed laughter from under him and a couple more swats that he did his best to avoid by wriggling like a sluggish caterpillar until he popped his head out, twisting to work an arm free in retaliation to swipe back. They ended up rolling into the side table, knocking over a glass of half drunk water and a couple of books.

“ _couldn’t chair less_.”

The bedroom door slammed open viciously, banging off the door jam and nearly closed on the rebound before a hand smacked it open again. Razz stood shillouhted by the hallway light, eye lights hazy from sleep, looking very much like he had just been woken up by his rumpled bed clothes. He glared at the unoccupied bed before tilting his head down at the two Papyruses on the floor and Stretch could have sworn he heard his jaw creak. “ ** _IT IS THREE O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING. GO. THE FUCK. TO SLEEP!_** ”

“ _okay **mom**_.” The duel answer was eerily synchronized and the Papyri meet each other’s gaze briefly before breaking down into a chorus of guffaws and giggles.

“ ** _OH MY GOD_** ,” Razz muttered as he turned to leave, “ ** _IT’S WORSE WHEN IT’S TWO OF THEM_**.”


	7. Coffee Shop Stop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey look, two ships for the price of one! It's Edgeberry and MapleBlossom. I think this one came from a generic writing prompt on pintrest but I honestly can't remember.  
>  **WARNINGS:** Papcest, crude language, food mention.

The small coffee shop was a smorgasbord of sounds and wonderful smells, sputtering machines, murmurs of patrons and the strong, heady aroma of fresh grounds mixed with a melody of vanilla and caramel was a wonderful backdrop to the four monsters as they settled themselves into a table. Slim caught the edge of Papyrus’ chair, helping to push it back in as the monster sat, earning a tender grin that made him slink down into the seat beside him, hands cupping his coffee.

“ **SO** ,” Fell hummed watching the brief exchange, catching the edge of a claw around the rim of his cup. “ **WHAT DOES COFFEE MAKE IN ANNIVERSARY MONTHS?** ”

Papyrus attempted a half hearted glare as Slim slunk further in his chair and Blue absently patted Fell’s forearm as he stirred his own coffee before popping the lid back on. It was a rare weekend afternoon the four of them could meet up like this. Work schedules, schooling and lazy afternoon napping agendas that had to be strictly adhered to kept the rest of their group from coming together. Still, they could enjoy one another’s company.

“YOU WERE SAYING SOMETHING ABOUT A PATENT?” Papyrus shifted the attention and conversation back to the previously paused one as everyone made their orders and waited for them.  
  
“ _YES_!” Blue leaned forward excitedly. “ _AS I WAS SAYING, FELL AND I ARE WAITING ON WORD BACK FROM…_ ” He chatted animatedly, glancing at his boyfriend every now and then, a hand not so sneakily drifting to rest atop of the larger, scarred one. His grin widened when he felt Fell squeeze back.

Slim glanced sideways, head tipped downward as he stared at his cooling black coffee and eyed the creamer with a brief longing as it sat next to Blue. Papyrus must have caught it because he stood and leaned across the way to fetch it and his body recoiled and a low groan slipped through his teeth as he rubbed his hip tenderly.

“ ** _still sore?_** ” Slim leaned forward, drawing a hand from his jacket as if he intended to rest it atop of the offending area and stopped himself just shy of doing it.

“A LITTLE, BUT NOTHING THE GREAT PAPYRUS CANNOT HANDLE.”

Blue nearly spluttered his coffee, slamming the paper cup down with a slightly dramatic thump, the lid keeping it from spilling. Bright starry eyes of his namesake glowed radiantly as he stood, his smaller stature giving very little height from his previously seated self and shifted forward in a conspirator manner, and god bless his Soul gave a vague attempt to drop his loud tone. “ _YOU GUYS DID THE FRICKLE FRACKLE?!_ ”

Fell chuckled at the dual orange blushes that graced the couple’s cheeks, slightly off color from one another as Slim tugged on his jacket’s hood, bringing it up over his head and hunched shoulders. Papyrus mirrored the reaction, tapping his fingers together in soft little movements and Fell wasn’t sure who would combust first. So adorable.

“ ** _no, we, uh_** …” Slim tugged on the strings of his jacket, fidgeting further.

“FOUND THIS AMAZING JUNGLE GYM AT OUR LOCAL PARK THIS MORNING AND IT HAD A BOUNCY ROPE BRIDGE! WE SPENT HOURS ON IT.”

“ _OH_.” The disappointment could be heard in his little lover’s tone as Blue sat back down but his smile was genuine, still pleased. “ _I’M GLAD YOU GUYS HAD FUN_.”

“ **WE HAD FUN, TOO** ,” Fell added, ignoring the raised eye ridge from Blue directed at him.

“OH?” Papyrus perked up. “DID YOU FIND AN AMAZING GYM, TOO?”

“ **WE FUCKED**.” His smug grin was ruined by a slap of a hand across his mouth and Blue’s indignant squawk of outrage at being too late to stop him.


	8. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honeymustard softness.  
>  **WARNINGS:** Bad dreams, nothing really.

Red shifted in his sleep, mumbling incoherently as he fidgeted, flinching briefly before shifting to a cooler part of the bed. His brow tightened as he tossed and turned, warring against the nightmare that had taken hold. Clutching the sheet twisted around him, he fought against the constricting material and flailed briefly, clocking his husband with a misplaced backhand to his face.

Being hit in your sleep wasn’t exactly a fun way to wake up and Stretch was already grumbling, rubbing his chin where the gold band had caught him. He turned to gripe and whatever he was building up to, died on his lips when Red whimpered, flinching harshly against his dream. The same flailing hand came up protectively to shield himself before grabbing for the sheet again.

With all of the cautiousness of being presented with a wild animal, Stretch gently brushed a hand across Red’s cheekbone, earning another flinch, and promptly gave a sharp poke to the middle of his forehead. Red awoke with a painfully loud snort that Stretch would have chuckled at, but the confusion and fear that bled in unstrained red magic from his sockets only made his soul lurch.

Stretched remained still, unassuming until clarity surfaced and Red’s sockets guttered out when he realized where he was. Slowly, Stretch raised his arms. “ _hold me?_ ”

Red stared, almost uncomprehending before he climbed silently into the embrace, settling down to curl against him. Timidly, he clutched a rib and buried his skull, trembling as hands trailed down his spine and head in a soothing gesture. Slowly, he felt the quiet reverb of his husband’s soul, pulsing in low calming waves and his own stuttering one struggled to match it, finding peace in the loving warmth.


	9. Bleached Bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honeyketchup or Stonerbros, I can't remember which is the more popular/well liked ship name of these two. Either way, they're a couple of dorks.  
>  **WARNINGS:** Dorks being dorks

Leaning back on his hands, Sans tipped his head up and enjoyed the warmth of the sun on a lazy Wednesday afternoon and the sounds of the pool party patrons enjoying themselves. He lazily kicked his feet in the water, content to sit on the first step of the pool, wading little more than ankle deep. His swim trunks and tank top remained dry, much to the vexation of his brother who was currently battling with a blushing Razz atop his shoulders, hands resting atop femurs as he surged forward triumphantly against Blue and Fell respectfully in the faux wrestling match. Blue’s infectious laughter made him smile in reply but he was content to cheer from the sideline, favoring his brother, naturally. He made sure to stay out of the splash zone.

A faint, low droning hum slowly reached him and he cracked an eye socket to see Stretch laid out atop of a ridiculously pink crocodile floaty. He paddled idly, kicking a single foot to make a slow but arduous circle around toward him as he hummed the jaws theme song until the snout of his floaty bumped into Sans’ shins.

“ _bonk_.” Stretched tilted his head from his crossed arms to look up at him. “ _having fun_?”

“absolutely.” Sans sluggishly kicked water at him, a scant few drops actually pelting him across the skull and smiled easily as Stretch slid off the floaty, nudged it aside to take it’s place to lazily bob between his knees. He folded his arms over San’s lap, content to take a nap in his newly designated skeleton floaty and nuzzled his head into his arms.

“ _i love you, you know that?_ ”

“of course.” Phalanges scrapped across the top of his head and still when Stretch lofted his head to meet his gaze.

“ _you’re mine_.” Shifting to lean up, Sans bent automatically to meet him halfway for a quick kiss, only to catch the taller by the back of his head to keep him still. He pressed down, the sweet kiss quickly turning a little heated when Stretch sneakily traced a tangerine tongue across his teeth, fingers pressing into Sans’ thighs. He broke the kiss long enough to repeat, “ _mine_.”

Sans leaned back, a light blue blush tinting his cheeks to give his boyfriend a look. “mine?” His voice was pitched audibly higher than his normal tone.

There was a familiar glint in Stretches sockets. “ _mine_.”

“mine.”

“ _mine_!”

“mine!”

Red watched amusedly from the edge of the pool as the two went back and forth, growing louder with each repeat, so very reminiscent of that weird Disney fish movie they’d all watched the other day. “ **they do know we can see them?** ”

Slim shrugged, his orange floaters around his arms squeaking slightly. He glanced at the cool crisp water with a pause and casually shoved Red into it.


	10. Unsoupervised

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven’t felt a desire to really write lately, however that didn’t stop me from harassing the discord chat I’m apart of, with really lousy ideas. Here’s one of them involving the Pap6. Twist belongs to [Lady-Kit](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Kit) and Portugal belongs to [SansyFresh](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SansyFresh), both used with permission. ~~I’m sorry.~~  
>  **WARNINGS:** Food mention, implied papcest but nothing out right stated, possible Spicyhoney, awful vaguely sexual puns, a bunch of dorks being dorks, a whole lot of sass, and some light shit posting.

Standing in the infamous pasta/Mexican/Asian/Random Non American Food aisle, Fell shifted his stance to achieve better judgment with a cocked hip. He stared at the absolutely awful selection of all of three pastas and tried to ignore the low key building ire. The local grocery store, a generic chain store at that, was severely lacking in a lot of everything. He should have turned around the moment he whiffed bleach and the faint aroma of rotten onions. Why were there two different elbow macaroni? Fell eyed one box than the other with a deliberate frown. They were physically the same thing, only one seemed to be an off brand, claiming to be better than name brand. The cartoony thumbs up did little to persuade him.

But elbow macaroni? He scoffed under his breath. What was he, some soccer mom with a taste for bland, tasteless macaroni salad with olives, trying to pass it off as some gourmet secret recipe at the last PTA meeting. We all know you got it off the back of a Kraft box, Helen.

He’d lost track of time, ~~reasoning~~ and the others, the wild pack of Papyri that had strong armed him in tagging along, only to scatter in separate directions the moment they stepped through the automatic doors. The droning, repetitive elevator music the store piped through speakers that could only have originated from the Stone Age had wiped away his ability to care. Was that…? He tipped his skull to take in the piano rendition of a Whitesnake classic. Fell hummed. Maybe it was better if he cared even less.

Keeping one clawed hand on his cart to prevent it from rolling away (He always got stuck with the one with a shitty wheel), he eyed his three options for the seventh time and lofted a brow at the abrupt cut of music. There was a sharp, ear piercing shriek of feedback as some seventeen year old, stock boy probably named Steve, breathed heavily into the microphone before pulling it away to stop the shrieking of the damned.

“Will a Mr. Fell...” The awkward pause promised so much. “Hot Topic, please come to the front of the store. Your son is waiting for you. A Mr. Fell Hot Topic. Your son is waiting.”

The sudden return of music did nothing the quell the sudden loathing of taking any of his idiots with him on errands. With a rueful sigh that trailed off into a low sound of the undead, Fell shoved the box of pasta back on the shelf, straightened it, and stalked off with his click clacking cart.

It was Slim waiting for him, because of course it was. He stood leaning against the small freezers filled with bags of ice and looking unnecessarily smug. Fell contemplated walking out the store and leaving the others to whatever their fate decided. Instead he settled with catching Slim across the ankles with his slow, creaking, runaway cart.

Unbothered by the vicious attack, Slim leaned into him conspirator like, voice quiet as if he was about to impart some mildly decent wisdom. “i have to show you something.” His breath smelled like butterscotch and he nodded gravely before padding off, hands in his coat pockets that crinkled with penny candy wrappers.

“DO I EVEN HAVE A CHOICE?”

Fell knew he shouldn’t have followed, but he found himself abandoning his cart in favor of doing just that. He had no ties to it or the lone box of cereal and can of crushed tomatoes laying inside. If it was meant to be, they’d be there when he returned.

Slim led him past the gauntlet of empty checkout stands, finding only one open, no matter how many people were in line, to a group of people Fell had been actively ignoring. If there was anything he’d learned in his life, large group of humans meant trouble. Slim nodded to the group and Fell wasn’t sure what he was suppose to do. He nodded again, making a show of canting his head to the ground as if to make a point.

Before Fell could gripe at him to just tell him what he wanted, he spotted a familiar pair of orange sneakers on the floor and his soul skipped a beat. Shouldering his way through the group, magic crackling at the ends of his phalanges, not caring how close and how many they were before he stopped short.

Stretch laid sprawled on the ground, pointedly refusing to acknowledge he had one arm stuck inside a claw machine game, looking entirely nonplussed at the gathering crowd. Two workers stood next to him, keeping the curious onlookers back as one unsuccessfully tried to free him. Stretch didn’t seem to mind them, his attention directed toward Twist, who’d taken residence atop of the nearby pallet of stacked dog food.

“-i am one of the smartest monsters you will ever meet.” Stretch countered, Fell having missed the beginning of whatever irrational dispute the ashtray was trying to argue.

“Uh huh.” Twist tucked his legs under him, sitting cross legged.

“i have a PhD!”

“‘Kay.” He rested his chin in his hands, hunched over with the softest grin.

“so i don’t need your attitude.”

Twist nodded, agreeing with ease. “So why is yer hand stuck, sweetheart.”

“becaUSE I WON THIS CUPIE DOLL FAIR AND SQUARE.”

Fell sighed painfully, scrunching his nasal bridge and couldn’t decide if he wanted to rub his temples to ease the sudden and completely unprovoked headache or fold his arms in utter disappointment. He tried for both.

“babe!” Stretched cried happily, leaning forward only to be stopped short by his predicament.

“Do you know this gentleman?” asked one of the workers, two seconds away from taking a crowbar to the machine.

Stretch beamed at him “…I HAVE NEVER SEEN THIS MONSTER BEFORE IN MY LIFE.”

“rude.” 

He wasn’t going to dignify that with a response, especially when Twist chuckled fondly at them both. “I EXPECTED YOU TO KEEP AN EYE ON HIM, TWISTED.”

Twist gave a light shrug, content to watch as Slim sidled up beside him, long enough to snap a picture and type out a message on his phone. He reflexively smiled without looking up as Twist settled an arm over his shoulders. His phone pinged as his message was sent and slipped it back into his pocket, offering a loose candy to the other who gave a light shake of his head.

“ARE YOU QUITE DONE?”

“no,” Stretch muttered, stubbornly, folding his one free arm across his chest.

Fell fought the urge to sigh again. “IF YOU KNOW WHAT’S GOOD FOR YOU, YOU’LL LET GO OF THAT RIDICULOUS TOY.”

“are you gunna spank me if I don’t?”

Could a monster dust of an actual annoyed induced soul attack? Did that kind of thing even exist? Fell pinched the bridge of his nasal bone. “YOU ARE KILLING ME,” he growled. “YOU ARE KILLING YOUR ONLY RIDE HOME.”

“Aww, sweetheart, it ain’t that bad,” Twist interjected.

“i clitterally don’t know what you’re talking about.” Stretched reclined back, tucking his arm behind his head to cushion it against the claw machine.

Fell stilled. “DID YOU… THAT’S A COMPLETELY INAPPROPRIATE PUN IN A PUBLIC SETTING! THERE’S LITERALLY NO BUILD UP TO IT.” He wasn’t sure if he was actually more bothered by the awful pun or zero reasoning behind it.

One of the workers, Bob by the nametag, cautiously raised the crow bar in his hand. “Do we still need to get him out?”

“snatchurally.”

“I WANT A DIVORCE.” 

“we aren’t even married, felly.”

The slow, quiet hum of a motorized scooter denoted the arrival of Cash, sitting quite at ease as it crept forward, regardless of who’s toes were in the way. He stopped once he cleared the group of amused humans and glanced at everyone in turn, phone in hand and one eye silently judging over the mountain of cigarette cartons in his basket. Slowly without breaking eye contact, he backed up, scooter beeping before he drove on, heading for the front door in one very surreal moment.

“Sir, you can’t take that outside,” the other worker started after him, exasperated, “Sir. Sir!”

Fell was fairly certain this was what having a stroke felt like.

“Aaaand he’s gone,” Twist announced before sitting up straight. “Anyone see P?”

A sharp toot of a horn resounded from behind the closed sliding doors, momentarily becoming louder as the worker walked after Cash, ensuing a slow speed chase through the parking lot. The horn honked again, longer and impossibly louder, drawing the lingering curious to look.

Portugal leaned impatiently out the passenger side window of their vehicle, glaring back at the group. “Get a move on, fuckos. I ain’t got all day!”

Fell patted his pockets for his car keys, finding them mysteriously missing. “WHO THE HELL GAVE HIM MY KEYS?” At the chorus of shrugs, he refrained from dragging his hands down his face and marched toward the entryway. “PORTUGAL! GIVE- DON’T YOU FLIP ME OFF RUNT!”


End file.
